


Runaway

by Hannibalsimago



Category: Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom
Genre: Galahad thinks it's hysterical, Horseback Riding, M/M, Swearing, Tristan attempts multitasking, With unexpected consequences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-14 02:45:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18043970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannibalsimago/pseuds/Hannibalsimago
Summary: Tristan attempts multi-tasking with unexpected results.Remember the anecdote that Mads Mikkelsen recounted about the hawk, the horse and himself on the set of King Arthur?Yes, THAT one.** please see the comments section if you desire the background of the story.**





	Runaway

**Author's Note:**

  * For [purplesocrates](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplesocrates/gifts).



Tristan’s usual mount, his war stallion Ullr, was lame after his recent scouting trip. Nothing serious just a slide down a bit of scree on a hillside. As with all his animals under his care, Tristan would sooner take a fatal arrow than allow harm to either his mount or his hawk. He walked Ullr home and settled him in a stall then went to find Arthur.  _ ‘Best to rest him before more damage occurred,’  _ he thought as he walked through the encampment.

 

After a few inquiries and declining a cup of wine, Tristan stood before Arthur in the council chamber.

 

“I can’t Arthur. I need to get Ullr settled. It’s his fetlock. He’s lame. I need some help with his care, a stable boy if you anticipate sending me out to scout.” He ticked off on his fingers a list of remedies.

 

“He needs rest either in the stable or a small paddock, a bran poultice after he exercises. Grease for his hooves and four to six buckets of cold water a day from the spring for this length of time it takes for the sun to move from here to here.” Tristan drew a curved line in the dust on the table for illustration.

 

“Two to three buckets each time will help the swelling to go down. And some sheep.” explained Tristan.

 

Arthur looked at him over the rim of his wine-cup trying not to laugh.

 

“He gets lonely. Ullr loves sheep.” 

 

Arthur agreed to everything, even the sheep. “Take Galahad with you tomorrow when you go to find a mount. Lancelot will lend you his horse. And I will send tonight for a stable boy. I can’t have you inactive for long.” 

 

Tristan thanked him and headed back to the stables. He knew there were no war horses, not in the region where they were encamped for the foreseeable future. Arthur meant farm horses. Not unless Tristan was going to go off and attempt to steal a war horse from the Woads or Picts. Arthur put his foot down at that. Tristan grimaced sourly. No, it meant a farm horse, and probably an old nag at that. He put on a smile when he reached the stables. No sense in getting Ullr worked up over a farm horse. He explained the situation as he curried and combed the stallion’s coat, soothing him with his touch and the tone of his voice before he headed off to the river with some empty buckets. 

 

_________________________

 

After an early morning start and spending nearly all day riding from farm to farm, Galahad was ready to push Tristan into a prickle bush. He never knew anyone to be so  _ picky _ when it came to horses. Especially since it was only going to be for a few weeks at most. The way Tristan went on about the dismal qualities of equines in the area was enough to set his teeth on edge. Until the last farm they came to just before dark, where a suitable horse for a reasonable price was found. Tristan of course tried to refuse but Galahad stood firm. 

 

“You can’t refuse to buy the horse because of his name, Tristan. Be reasonable. You have no other choice. Arthur insisted that you find a horse today. By all the gods, you’ve been at it longer than even he imagined. You’ve run out of options. Take the horse,” cajoled Galahad. Both men were bone tired and wanted nowhere else to be but back at the encampment with a warm fire, hot meal and wrapped in furs.  

 

“I’m not calling him that Galahad.”

 

“But how can you be sure he will come when you call him? When you give him a command? After all he’s not a gelding. That’s been his name for his whole life. He simply won’t perform unless you say it.”

 

“Nonsense. I will call him something suitable, dignified. Like Váli.” 

 

Galahad laughed uproariously at that pronouncement. “Better to name him Sokken for his white foot than Váli! Just because you chose him,” which sent Galahad into another gale of laughter.

 

Galahad’s chuckles followed Tristan all the way as he led his recent acquisition back to camp.

 

_____________________________ 

After the first week, even Galahad was impressed. It seemed that there was something in the older farm horse that awakened at the long stretches of training. Not that Tristan was going to take him into battle. That would never happen. It would break Ullr’s heart. The week was spent getting man and mount used to each other. Especially his new name, Sokken. Tristan took the farm horse out on long rides, jumping over low obstacles and putting him through his paces. 

Everything seemed perfect and Tristan was smiling more and frowning less. Tomorrow he would introduce Isolde to Sokken. He was sure it would go well without much of a hitch. He had a smile on his face as he rolled over in his furs. 

 

The next morning dawned bright and clear. When he heard the plan, Galahad insisted that he go along when beast, bird and man all made their appearance for the first time. 

 

“Of course I’m going to be there! I wouldn’t miss it for the world Tristan,” exclaimed Galahad.

 

Tristan harrumphed but nodded his head as he rode toward the hill where most of the training had taken place. It led down to the river which provided water for the camp, the water dividing the encampment in two. 

 

He stopped Sokken and whistled for Isolde watching the skies. Hearing his call and with a cry from above, the raptor dived for Tristan’s outstretched gloved hand. She settled on it gracefully, wings proudly extended, asking for some tasty moles. The flapping of her wings along with her cries proved too much for the farm horse who startled and whinnied. It was by sheer horsemanship that Tristan prevented him from rearing, thereby tossing man and bird off his back. 

 

When the horse realised he couldn’t get away from the frightening winged annoyance perched just out of his view, he did the only reasonable thing. He bolted, ears full back and neck outstretched. The suddenness of the movement unseated Isolde from her perch. She had been concentrating on holding the nice juicy treat that Tristan gave her leaving her with one talon upraised clutching the morsal while the other was gently grabbing his glove. 

 

With her breakfast interrupted, when the horse took off, she did the natural thing. She tried to fly away. Which was of course prevented by Tristan. Down she came, wings flapping and screaming her displeasure and fright. 

 

Tristan had only just gotten Sokken under control when the hawk frightened him again and set him racing in another direction. This time instead of flying upwards, Isolde slipped  _ under _ Tristan’s glove bouncing up and down, screeching and beating her wings frantically. Her talons waving frantically in the air, attempting to grab anything whether man or beast. 

 

Through it all Tristan was trying to keep his seat and his composure while failing miserably at both. “Isolde, behave! You’ll break a wing if you don’t calm down,” he tried to soothe the frightened falcon and horse at the same time.

 

Seeing as how persuading the raptor wasn’t working, he tried to woo the horse. “Sokken, good boy. Whoa. Just let me get down and this will all be over. Whoa, Sokken!”   
  


At this the farm horse raced off until he was winded and head down and flanks shaking, he stood at the top of the hill. Isolde made one more attempt at flight, flapping her wings mightily and shrieking for all she was worth, cursing out steed and man. 

 

This was the last straw. Patience at an end, the horse spied the river below and decided to throw both annoyances off his back no matter what the cost. Tristan realized Sokken’s intentions just before the horse bolted again.

 

“Oh, hell and damnation! Whoa Sokken. Not the river! Whoa Sokken! Whoa I say!” The litany of ineffectual commands carried on the wind. 

 

The horse picked up speed down the hill. Isolde flapped and shrieked.

 

“WHOA you cursed horse!” Tristan yelled as the disgruntled horse bolted toward the river. Tristan managed to somehow release Isolde just at the bottom of the hill, grabbing the saddle with one hand and the reins with the other. He yanked and cursed. Nothing was going to stop the forward motion of the horse and rider. Momentum and gravity are difficult things to overcome.

 

Tristan gave one last mighty shout, a last attempt at stopping the disaster which was staring him in the face.

 

“WHOA BUMBLEHOOVES!” he cried as the horse sailed into the river, sticking the landing as pretty as any professional dancer or juggler. 

 

Completely unprepared for the shock of landing stock still, Tristan flew sideways off the horse and giving a strangled shout fell into the river below.   

 

Throughout this entire pantomime, Galahad watched the unthinkable happen. His ‘o’ of astonishment at the onset turned to peals of laughter as he watched the chain of events. When he reached the river, he saw a sight which he would never have imagined. 

 

Tristan was sitting in waist deep water, his knees poked above the water line with his elbows bent on them and his hands covering his face from view. His shoulders, his plaits and braids were strewn with river weeds and muck from the bottom of river. He struggled to get his breathing under control. 

 

Bumblehooves was fine, placidly tugging at a piece of river grass, carefully tugging it from Tristan’s shoulder and eating it as daintily as one could imagine. Galahad imagined he could see the old nag smile before he dipped his head for another nibble.

 

Galahad couldn’t help himself. The shock of the sight before him was too much for restraint. He burst into a howl of laughter which came from his toes. He knew how proud Tristan was and how much simple delight he took in his dress. To see him like this was unthinkable. Tears ran down his face as he gasped for breath.

 

“Come on Bumblehooves. Leave him alone. You’ve made your point.” At his name, the horse raised his head and walked toward Galahad, knickering softly.

 

“Are you hurt badly Tristan?” asked Galahad once the horse was out of the river with his reins tucked under a large rock. He turned back toward his companion who just managed to stand upright without slipping on the mossy rocks. Galahad reached out a hand to steady Tristan as he negotiated the river current.

 

“No pup,” he sighed. “I may have some bruises, maybe a sprain. I swore I would never say that horse’s name.”

 

“Well, I’m glad you did! You could have broken something much worse if you hadn’t.” admonished Galahad.

 

“Who names a horse Bumblehooves?” 

 

“A farmer’s son who thought the world of a clumsy colt. Come on. Let’s get you, Isolde and your trusty mount home. Now I have you and Ullr to look after,” said Galahad, looking at Tristan’s ankle.

 

A moan from Tristan as he reached dry land. He balanced himself on Galahad’s shoulder hopping toward the horse, muttering “Bumblehooves, indeed. Enough excitement for this morning.” The horse knickered and nudged Tristan at the sound of his name. 

 

Galahad had a fleeting thought at the sight but wisely bit back his laughter. ‘ _ Or maybe he was just looking for more tasty river grass.’  _

 

He clutched the saddle as Galahad released the reins and helped him mount up before they headed back to camp.  

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This was written based on a prompt by purplesocrates asking for a story based on this pairing. The idea for the story was mine but she came up the most ridiculous thing that I have ever heard and asked for me to put it in the story.
> 
> This is a thank you to my writing partner and incredible Fannibal friend. Purplesocrates has shown such generosity, support, advice and overall kindness to me both in writing and in real life. This tiny story is far from leveling the scales in terms of a thank you for all that she has done for me. I wanted to write something that would reflect the joy I have in her company, in her wonderful gift of writing. Thank you so very much my dear.


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